


The Tender Feline Gratification

by gryfndor_godess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU S9, Crack, F/M, Schmoop, Soft Kitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryfndor_godess/pseuds/gryfndor_godess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas isn't feeling too great, but he thinks "Soft Kitty" might help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tender Feline Gratification

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/80640.html?thread=29956096) prompt from the SPN kink-meme.

“He’s crazy again. What did you morons do this time?”

“What- we didn’t do anything!” Sam’s outrage was not mirrored on Dean, who just rolled his eyes and gave her his usual constipated scowl.

“He’s not crazy,” said Dean. “Or- not crazy in _that_ way…”

Castiel blinked at them, his baby blues looking even babier and bluer than normal under their hazy, fever-induced sheen. It was damnably distracting. She half wanted to gouge them out for the inconvenience. And to stop the occasional flutter they caused in her stupid human stomach.

“I do not understand your consternation,” he said, his voice sounding painfully hoarse, even worse than yesterday. “It is a logical request. When Sheldon is ill, he is always soothed by the song. Why would it not soothe me, too?”

“Because Sheldon is a TV character,” said Meg. “And he’s _ridiculous_.”

Dean rounded on Sam. “Why did you have to introduce him to that show?”

“See! It is your fault! _Morons_!”

Sam glared at them both and spoke through gritted teeth. “He reminded me of Sheldon. I thought he would enjoy it.”

“He reminds me of Spock! That doesn’t mean I’m going to introduce him to _Star Trek_ so that he can start asking us to do…I dunno, _Pon Farr_. “Logical” my ass…”

“That one I’d be willing to consider,” said Meg. “You two would not be invited.”

“Sheldon strongly identifies with Spock and reveres him, insomuch as an atheist can revere anyone,” said Castiel. He sounded so growly, and not in the good way, that Meg had to resist the urge to tell him to drink more of the honey-soaked tea Dean had made. “Therefore, it is also logical that I would remind you of both characters. What is Pon Farr?”

“Christ,” Dean muttered.

“Nothing,” said Sam. “Er, Meg can explain it to you later. In private.”

“All right,” said Castiel. “Can you sing now?”

Unwillingly, Meg found herself looking at the Winchesters for help. Or solidarity. Whatever.

They looked at her.

She shrugged. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: he was your boyfriend first.”

Dean made an impatient noise. “Look, Cas…you’re sick, and we get that it sucks cause you’ve never had to deal with the common cold before. But…we’ve done everything we’re supposed to. You’re hydrated, we got you a hot water bottle, we gave you…”

“NyQuil,” said Sam.

“NyQuil. So you’ll konk out soon anyway. Singing that… _song_ isn’t going to help anything. Normal people don’t do that.”

“I wasn’t aware that you considered yourself normal,” said Castiel. “Normal people don’t typically consort with angels and demons, former or otherwise.”

Meg snorted. The “former” bit stung, but it was worth it to see the Winchesters’- as Castiel put it- _consternation_.

“Yeah but…” Sam trailed off and looked at Dean, who looked into space, mouth twisted like he was sucking on a lemon.

The full force of Castiel’s beseeching gaze turned on her. “Please, Meg?”

For half a second she was tempted to say yes, because he was gazing at her with more than just hope, like he had faith in the idea that she would take care of him, and really, _what would it hurt?_

But then sanity returned; there were some things that demons- even _former_ demons- just didn’t _do_ , and despite their more-than-occasional moving of furniture and Dean’s jackass jokes that the point of her inexplicable resurrection was to be with Castiel, an ex-demon to go with the ex-angel, she _wasn’t_ his girlfriend; and just because his Father and the Winchesters were too dickish for the honor didn’t mean she had to shoulder the weight of Castiel’s faith instead.

“I wouldn’t have done that when I was actually your nurse,” she said. “What makes you think I’d do it now?”

His face fell, so fast and crumbly that she felt an undeniable twinge; that had come out meaner than she’d intended. But why should she care? She _was_ mean. That shouldn’t surprise him.

 _Fuck_. These stupid human feelings were so _annoying_.

“I would do it for you,” said Castiel.

She would have preferred anger; instead he just sounded disappointed. It made her derisive again, unintentionally.

“ _I_ wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Castiel’s jaw tightened. He turned his face toward the wall.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee had the nerve to glare at her.

“What?” she snapped, more defensively than she meant. “You two can feel free to sing your hearts out! It was an open request to start with. And I’m _sure_ he would do it for you, too.”

She expected a quick, baseless retort, but something that looked shockingly like guilt flashed across Sam’s face.

“I would,” Castiel agreed in a mumble, and gave a huge, snorting, snotty sniff. He turned back toward the bedside table, groping. Dean grabbed a tissue and put it into his outstretched hand; the hunter seemed to be chewing his tongue.

Castiel blew, long and loudly.

“How- how does it go?” Sam asked.

Meg felt herself go bug-eyed. Dean winced.

Castiel brightened perceptibly. “It goes like this. _Soft kitty_ …”

There was no doubt in her mind that she’d heard more melodious screaming in Hell; she definitely wouldn’t have been able to follow his tune if she hadn’t seen the episodes in question. But credit where insane credit was due, he warbled with as much enthusiasm as she’d ever heard anyone warble.

Maybe she should make Dickwad the Elder check his temperature again.

Castiel hacked up some phlegm for an encore and then looked at them expectantly.

A beat passed, and then Sam cleared his throat.

_Lucifer save us._

“ _S-soft k-kitty, w-warm kitty_ …”

Dean exhaled a curse.

“ _Little ball of_ …”

“ _Fur_ ,” Dean bleated, and winced again.

Despite the absurdity of it, Castiel had turned happy, grateful eyes on the Winchesters. A hot, heavy, bitter feeling rose fast in Meg’s throat and stuck. He was looking at them like they were all that _mattered_ -

“Stop it!”

They did, probably out of sheer confusion. 

“No!” Castiel protested, looking wildly at her. “Why-”

“Get out,” she ordered, and actually reached out to shove Sam’s arm. He stumbled back a step, also out of confusion, she guessed; it wasn’t like she could move his gargantuan ass if he didn’t want to be moved, not with only frail human strength.

To her surprise, they didn’t argue, although as they shuffled to the doorway, a smirk grew on Dean’s lips that made her want to punch his smarmy face; maybe later, when Castiel couldn’t see.

She locked the door behind them and went back to Castiel. This time she sat on the covers next to him. He looked more intrigued than indignant now. And maybe a little hopeful again.

Her chest felt warm. _Fucking_ human body…

“Why did you make them stop?”

Now that the Wonder Twins weren’t here, she decided that his hoarseness wasn’t completely un-sexy.

“Clarence,” she said. “Let me make this perfectly clear: that song is stupid. It does not have magical restorative properties. But if anyone’s going to sing it to you…it’s not going to be them.”

“It’s going to be you?”

“I didn’t say that!” She paused until she was sure she could sound calmer, more reasonable; totally unattached and definitely not jealous. “But it’s not going to be them.”

His eyes twinkled.

Seriously, _gouging_. Or at least give them a fucking warning label.

“Just- we’re clear on all that?”

He nodded, slowly. “I understand that _Soft Kitty_ ’s soothing properties are psychological rather than physical. And I will only ask _you_ to sing it to me in the future.”

“Good.”

It came out more vehemently than she intended, but Castiel just smiled contentedly. She focused on that as she ran through the patently stupid lyrics, and then she cleared her throat, before she could talk herself out of it.

“ _Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur_ -”

Castiel was looking at her like had looked at Sam and Dean.

“ _Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr_.”

No, this look was _better_. Not only was he was looking at her like she was all he needed, he looked- happy. Peaceful.

She started the song over, ignoring thoughts of how her old peers would have reacted to the idea of a demon bringing an angel peace.

On the third round she thought she heard footsteps stop outside the door, maybe even a muffled snicker. She ignored that, too; if Sam and Dean wanted to laugh at her afterward, she’d (a) remind them they had started it and (b) stab them in the balls. 

When his eyes drifted shut, she sang two more rounds and then trailed off into silence. He blinked at her drowsily, his wan smile redoubling. “That was beautiful. Thank you.”

Meg felt herself blush, one of the many human indignities she was having to get used to. “Don’t mention it.” Seriously. As soon as he stopped feeling like shit they were going to have a serious conversation about the grievous bodily harm that would befall him if he told anyone what she’d just done. 

When his eyelids fluttered in a valiant attempt to stay open, she cleared her throat. “I’ll leave so you can sleep.”

“I don’t mind if you stay.”

“It’ll keep you awake.”

Castiel looked surprised by the idea. “Actually, I think I’ll fall asleep faster if you’re here.”

Meg tried not to look as surprised as _she_ felt, nor as pleased. “All right.”

“If you don’t mind,” he added, and then apologetically, “I know that I am not good company at the moment in any sense of the word.”

It was particularly true in the physical sense; he wasn’t currently drenched with sweat, but old perspiration still matted his hair, and while her nose had grown accustomed to it by now, she recalled the sickly odor that had hit her when she entered the room earlier; she didn’t remember the last time he had showered.

But she said honestly, “I don’t mind, Clarence,” and shifted closer, forcing him to scoot over. She lay down on top of the covers, though, not quite willing to touch the old-sweat-damp sheets. Even through the layers separating them, she could feel how unnaturally hot he was. It made her scowl and ponder, not for the first time, the various tortures she would visit on Metatron if she ever got hold of him.

A few minutes later she’d thought he’d fallen asleep and was daydreaming about feeding the scribe his own entrails when Castiel suddenly said, sounding livelier than he had before, “Next time you go shopping, will you buy Vicks VapoRub? I forgot to ask Sam before he went to the store today. Penny rubs it on Sheldon’s chest while she sings.”

Meg blinked at the change in subject, reconciling evisceration with VapoRub, and then rolled her eyes. “ _No_. I am not rubbing _VapoRub_ on your chest.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment and then, “What if I ask Dean or Sam to-”

“You little _shit_!” But she was snickering. She propped herself up on her elbow to look down at him. “Are you trying to manipulate _me_?”

He tried to blink innocently at her; for once, his baby blues didn’t help. “No…”

“I can absolutely, one hundred per cent guarantee you that neither Dean nor Sam is going to _rub your chest_. But you get points for trying.”

“So you’ll think about it?”

She smirked. “Probably not.”

“We could take turns rubbing it on each other…”

The warm feeling in her chest surged again, stronger than before; but this time she felt her lips curve, her eyes crinkle. “Oh, Clarence. You _have_ learned.”

She leaned down and kissed him. He opened his mouth to hers instantly, like she was the medicine he’d been waiting for all day. It made her press closer and cradle his head in her hand, despite his sweaty hair and clammy cheek. He tasted sour and stale and something indefinable that she felt sure she would come to recognize as _germy_ , given enough time as a human. But he kissed as enthusiastically as he had sung, and with much better results, and that was really all she cared about.

She was considering going for the waistband of his sweatpants- though they hadn’t tried it yet, fevers and fucking did not have to be mutually exclusive, she knew that much about being human- when he jerked away without warning. His head banged her nose, hard enough to make her mortal eyes water. Her irritation vanished a second later, though, when he doubled over, coughing.

Resisting the urge to prod her nose, she leaned back against the pillow, expectant; his fits usually only lasted a moment.

But Castiel stayed hunched over, hacking, his face going from sallow to purple faster than some of the people she’d strangled; he sounded like he was going to spit out his lungs. 

A few years ago that would have made her laugh.

She surged upright, her chest suddenly constricted. “Clarence? Clarence!” What was Dean always yelling? “Breathe! Take a deep breath!”

Castiel didn’t even seem to be _trying._

She’d thought it was just a contrarian brother thing, but maybe there was a reason Sam was always bellowing, “That doesn’t help!”

“Okay, no more- no more physical activity for you, take a- try to breathe, you’re gonna be all right, Clarence-” She whacked him on the back like she’d seen Dean do, and when that didn’t do anything, she grabbed the water from his bedside table. He warded her off, though, shaking his head. Or maybe he was just spastic.

Should she throw it on him?

“Cl- _Castiel_!”

What the Hell was she supposed to-

“ _Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur_!” The song fell out before she even realized what she was doing. “ _Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr! Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur_!” She abandoned the water in order to grab his shoulder to keep him steady and began rubbing frantic circles on his chest with her other hand. No one in their right mind would find this soothing, given that the lyrics sounded more like yelling than singing and her rubbing was too vigorous to be comfortable. Lucky then, that this was Clarence.

When he inhaled noisily, her heart felt like it skipped a goddamn beat, but she didn’t stop singing or rubbing until he was breathing regularly- or gasping, regularly, whatever. He was taking in oxygen and not dying, and that was what mattered.

She retrieved the water and gave him her most intimidating glare. “Drink. Slowly.”

He obeyed; when he lowered the glass, his hand was shaking slightly, but even his gasping had ceased. She pushed him gently back down onto the pillows.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed.

“You can make it up to me later.” Honest to Lucifer, she didn’t care about their make-out session, not when he looked so haggard.

“Oh- that, too.” He looked genuinely regretful, though, and sounded more miserable than he had all day as he continued, “I’m sorry if you get sick because of me.”

“Oh,” she echoed, automatically. “Well, if I do…you can sing to me, too.” 

His eyebrows scrunched together in a half-hearted sort of way, even his frown of confusion weaker than normal. “You said you would not want me to sing _Soft Kitty_ to you.” 

Meg shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and not like she was imagining the former angel serenading her; with all the human talk of “heavenly choirs,” he probably had a good voice when he wasn’t mucus-filled, right? 

“I wouldn’t say no to the chest rub.” She leered at him and was rewarded by a weak but genuine smile.

“I would enjoy that, too.” The smile faded. “Although not the circumstances that necessitated it. Maybe you shouldn’t stay. I don’t want you to feel what I’m feeling.”

That was not sweet. She was _not_ touched.

“Go to sleep, Clarence,” she said gruffly. “Worry about yourself. I’m from Hell; I can deal with the common cold.”

Castiel closed his eyes obediently. “I suppose that is true. You are the strongest woman I have ever known.”

For obvious reasons, Meg had never been the type to think random bursts of gratitude toward the heavens, but at that moment she was profoundly grateful to anyone listening, even the head asshole Himself, that Castiel couldn’t see her face.

She watched him for a few minutes, waiting to make sure he wasn’t going to have another fit, before lying back down. She didn’t press as close to him as before, wary of agitating him, but slid her arm across his chest. His head tilted toward hers, but he didn’t stir.

Maybe when he woke up she’d steal Sam’s laptop and they’d watch some TV. There had to be better pop culture references than _Soft Kitty_ for him to get hooked on.

But if his taste in television was as terrible as his taste in friends and that song remained his new security blanket, well- Meg closed her eyes, ready to drift off herself now, his heartbeat slow but steady beneath her hand- there were worse things she could think of.


End file.
